Wicked in Your Arms (Forgotten Princesses #1)(7)

“Come then. Let’s take a turn about the room,” Cleo suggested.

Cleo took her arm. Together they strolled. This time Grier paid no mind when a group of debutantes in flouncy pastel gowns presented them with their backs, giving them the cut direct. Grier forced her gaze from them and lifted her chin a notch. Who cared if a bunch of silly girls snubbed her? She wasn’t here for them, after all. Once she was married to a respectable gentleman, all that would come to an end anyway.

“Ah, there’s the dowager’s youngest grandson, Lord Tolliver.” Cleo dipped her head close to whisper, “Jack said we should show him particular attention. Let us go make ourselves amenable.”

Grier pasted a smile on her face for her sister’s benefit, if nothing else. They had been acquainted for only a short while, but as the bastard daughters of Jack Hadley they had much in common. In their brief time together they’d made up for lost years.

Raised an only child, Grier was thrilled to learn she was not alone in the world. It was the same for Cleo, but for different reasons. The oldest of fourteen half brothers and sisters, Cleo was a glorified nanny and servant all rolled into one. An ironic existence given she bore the name Cleopatra.

Grier eyed the dowager’s grandson surrounded by other gentlemen. She looked him up and down, wondering if it was too early to inquire about his living preferences. She hoped to snare a husband who preferred country living to life in Town. She knew it would narrow her selection, but she wasn’t accustomed to the crowds, to the constant fog, to the lack of fresh air. If she wanted to see trees, she had to venture to the park.

“Come, Grier. This isn’t the time to be reticent.” Cleo tugged her along.

Grier and Cleo idled alongside them, waiting to be noticed without appearing to be waiting.

They did not have long to wait. The viscount’s gaze fell on them both. His eyes lit up with recognition. They had been introduced several evenings ago at the opera. His grandmother, the dowager, had seen to that. He’d doubtless been apprised of his duty as sacrificial lamb.

According to Jack, the dowager was quite ready for her youngest grandson to wed either Grier or Cleo. The oldest grandson, the duke himself, was hands-off. The duchess might have been agreeable enough to lend them her stamp of approval and support either one of them marrying her youngest grandson, but she clearly saw Grier or Cleo for what they were: bastards with fat purses, neither of whom would be good enough for the Duke of Bolingbroke. They were, however, suitable for the Viscount Tolliver.

Lord Tolliver eagerly stepped outside his circle of friends and performed a brief bow, settling his bright eyes on each of them in turn. “Ah, the lovely Misses Hadley. Are you enjoying yourselves?”

“We’re having a splendid time,” Cleo lied charmingly.

Grier assessed her younger half sister in her sparkling blue gown. She was really quite pretty, resembling their other half sister, Marguerite, whom they had only just met. Fortunately for Marguerite, she was happily married and needn’t secure herself a husband through their father’s machinations.

“I hope you both have not overly tired yourselves.” He wagged a finger teasingly. “I recall you each promised me a waltz.”

Considering only three waltzes were to be danced this evening, this was a clear mark of his favor. Cleo smiled and nodded, uttering something appropriately clever.

Grier, however, couldn’t even summon a smile.

Staring at him, she could see nothing behind his falsely bright gaze. No true excitement, no anticipation. She could not help thinking this was all at his grandmother’s behest, that he was not truly agreeable to the notion of courting her or Cleo. Did he even have a choice? Was he simply the grand sacrifice to save his family from financial ruin? The notion gnawed at her and soured the prospect of marrying him. Viscount or not. Social acceptance or not. She didn’t want to wed the chap and then endure his lifelong enmity.

“I have not forgotten, Lord Tolliver,” Cleo promised.

“And you, Miss Hadley?” He looked expectantly at Grier, his expression bland and unassuming. Kind, she supposed. For now. But years from now . . . “You’ve saved me a waltz, I hope?”

Grier gave a small nod, shaking off her grim imaginings while trying to ignore the way his friends studied her from just beyond their little circle.

They stared openly, as if she were not a lady at all but a creature to be mocked and held to ridicule. And not just her. Cleo, too.

“Indeed,” she heard herself replying, fighting down those familiar feelings. She wasn’t that girl anymore. And this wasn’t Wales. Lifting her chin, she reminded herself that she was on her way to becoming a genuine lady now. “I have not forgotten, either.”

“Brilliant.” He nodded cheerily.

Just then one of his friends leaned his head close to the others in the group. Covering his mouth with one hand, he muttered something low. The group burst into laughter.

Grier didn’t hear what brought forth such merriment, but several of the popinjays glanced her way. Familiar heat crept up her cheeks. This really was unendurable. Lord Tolliver frowned and sent his friends a castigating look, which only seemed to prove that they were laughing at her, that the viscount himself knew she was a subject of scorn, but he would grit his teeth and bear courting her anyway. Holy hellfire. It was really too much. Was there no way she could find an acceptable husband without suffering these indignities?